


Reminiscent Moving On

by HisHighnessCat



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisHighnessCat/pseuds/HisHighnessCat
Summary: The boy. He realized that he thought of himself that way. But he had a name, didn’t he? He must have. His mother had a name, and so did his father, even if he couldn’t remember either at that moment. The realization that he didn’t know his name upset him, though he didn’t know why. Why was it important anyway? But it was, for some reason he knew that he needed to remember.





	Reminiscent Moving On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FaiaSakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaSakura/gifts).



> Thanks to Faia for allowing me to use your prompt, and for being okay with me slightly changing it to suit my story!

The little boy’s mother had taken him to the park. He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d been there; on most days it was too hot to even step outside the house. But on this day the sun was hidden behind the clouds and the air was almost cool, so his mother had decided that it would be good for both of them to get out for a while, away from his father’s ever increasing madness.

They had been careful, listening for anyone at all that might be approaching, ready to run or hide at any second. When they’d finally gotten to the park, his mother had taken them to a secluded corner where they were partially hidden away by a few large overgrown bushes, covered in long dead leaves. They needed to stay there if he wanted to play, his mother had said, and the boy didn’t mind at all. He was so rarely allowed outside - and for good reason, he knew - that he would gladly play anywhere even if it was a spot no bigger than a single parking space.

_ The boy _ . He realized that he thought of himself that way. But he had a name, didn’t he? He must have. His mother had a name, and so did his father, even if he couldn’t remember either at that moment. The realization that he didn’t know his name upset him, though he didn’t know why. Why was it important anyway? But it was, for some reason he knew that he  _ needed _ to remember.

He thought long and hard, went through multiple names that disappeared from his mind again as soon as he moved on to the next. Some of the names felt familiar, others did not. Then, suddenly, there was a name that stuck more than the other ones had. The name was Stephen. Yes, Stephen, that was his name!  _ Stephen _ . But at the same time there was also something about it that felt…  _ off. _ Something about that name didn’t feel completely right, but Stephen chose to ignore it, thinking that maybe he was normally called by a nickname and that’s why his full name sounded so unusual to him. And with that thought he focused on spending his time enjoying every minute he was allowed outside to play. He found a pinecone and a few sticks, and decided to use those to build something that he could give to his mother later.

~*~

Stephen’s mother had taken him out to the park. He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d been there; on most days it was too hot to even step outside the house.  _ No, wait… _ He could remember…  _ something _ . Hadn’t they gone to the park not too long ago? Maybe even more than once?

He didn’t know when that had been - a month ago, a week? yesterday? - but the strong feeling that he’d lived through this before rolled over him in waves. His mother didn’t seem to think anything was odd though. She led him to the park, walking crouched down as to not be seen and constantly looking around for anything that moved.

She took him back to a secluded area, and Stephen recognized every step he took, every slight shift in his mother’s posture, the way her breath caught slightly when he’d accidentally stepped on a twig that snapped with a sound that seemed to echo around them.  _ He’d done all of this before. _ He was sure of it. They got to their destination and his mother took a breath of relief.

“Okay now---” Something odd happened to her voice. It cracked and rasped and disappeared, but she didn’t seem to even notice. Her mouth continued to move, and Stephen was sure she said his name, could follow the way her lips formed around the syllables, but no sound came out. He had the distinct feeling that even this was familiar, but even more so that sound _should_ be coming from her. That it had done so once. _When?_ _In a memory?_

His thought were cut off by his mother's voice, once again audible. “You need to stay here, alright? We can’t go out and be seen. Just play here.”

And even though he didn’t know what was happening, Stephen started to look around to find something to play with. He’d just found a pinecone, and he’d somehow known exactly where to look for it, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He snapped his head up to see what it was.

There was a person, a boy, passing by their hiding spot. He was older than Stephen, but younger than his parents. A teenager. His hair was blond and messy, standing in whichever direction it wanted. The boy was walking away from them, so Stephen couldn’t see his face. He was only there for a few short moments before he walked into the wooded area and disappeared from view.

Stephen looked up to his mother, but she didn’t seem to have even noticed the boy. She didn’t look the least bit worried. And as Stephen turned back to where the mysterious boy had been just seconds before, he found it harder to keep the thought of the stranger in his mind. Soon he turned back to his playing and didn’t think more on it at all. It was as if the boy had never even been there.

~*~

Yet another day, with another trip to the park. By now it had happened so often that Stephen was fully aware of the repeating events. In the beginning he hadn’t minded much. He got to be outside as much as he could ever want, and while he couldn’t go wherever he wanted it had to be better than staying cooped up at home. Soon though the repetitive nature of these trips started to bore him. At first he continued doing what he was expected to do, going through the motions, but he quickly lost interest in keeping that up.

He tried talking to his mother, but she didn’t respond. It was as if she didn’t hear him. When she did talk it was always the same thing that she’d said the previous day, and Stephen knew it was the same thing that she’d say the day after.

Eventually he started trying everything he could to get a reaction out of her, anything at all. He screamed as loud as he could, he threw things around, he tried to leave the safety of their little hiding place but realized that for some reason he could only go to the places he could see from the spot where he’d started. He couldn’t explain it, but there seemed to almost be invisible walls surrounding them, and when he got too close he found that his thoughts drifted of to someplace else and he absentmindedly walked back without even realizing that he’d made the decision to do so.

Not that any of it mattered anyway. His mother didn’t react to any of it. Once he’d even kicked her shin to see if she’d yell at him, but he immediately felt so bad about it that he’d thrown himself down into her lap and sobbing his apologies over and over. And still she hadn’t even moved, not even looking at him.

It continued like that for an uncountable amount of days. They all had started to blur together, and Stephen didn’t even pretend to play anymore, didn’t act up, didn’t try to leave. He just laid down on the grass and stared up at the sky, watching the gray clouds slowly drift by.

It was when he lay there, left to his thoughts, that he started to remember…  _ something _ . For a long while that was all he knew about it, and every time he came to the park he’d lay down again, trying to focus on that fleeting  _ thing _ . Slowly, so very slowly, it came to him. The picture was far from clear in his mind, but he knew it was there, just out of reach, but getting closer all the time.

Something different. Hadn’t there been something different once?

Stephen’s head suddenly started to throb with the worst headache he’d ever experienced. It felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer and started pounding his skull with it until it finally cracked, and then that someone had taken the biggest pair of pliers they could find and stuck them through the opening in his head, twisting around his brain.

That’s when it struck him. Yes, there  _ had  _ been something different once! Was it the second repeating day? The fifth? Seventh? It didn’t matter, only that something had been different that particular day, something that hadn’t happened before or since.

_ The boy! _ There had been a boy with messy hair passing by! And just as Stephen thought that, he saw movement to his left. He sat up straight, and there - as if Stephen had summoned him just by thinking about him - was the boy again. Stephen shot up to his feet, determined to not lose sight of the stranger again, and hurried after him. He ran as fast as his short legs could carry him.

“Hey!” Stephen called after the stranger, who neither answered nor stopped. “Who are you?”

Finally he reached the edge of the forest, and something very strange happened. Instead of being met with the now familiar wall of confusion and absent-mindedness that would have him go back to his mother, Stephen passed through something that felt wet and cold, and it flickered before his eyes for a few short moments. When his vision cleared he could see that he stood just a few steps inside the forest, but that wasn’t what drew his gaze.

The stranger had stopped a few paces in front of him, and as he turned around Stephen was hit by a flood wave of recognition. The boy had kind, warm eyes that looked black in the shadows of the trees, and his face held an expression of surprise. And Stephen knew him, every cell in his body  _ knew him _ . How could he ever have forgotten?

“Newt.” His voice weren’t the one of a kid anymore.  _ He _ wasn’t a kid anymore. He stood almost as tall as Newt. Newt met his eyes and his lips curved up in a smile. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but before the first sound even came out he dissolved into a mist along with the whole world around them. “ _ NO! _ ”

Stephen stood alone, surrounded by darkness. But he wasn’t Stephen, was he? No, he knew his name now, knew it without a doubt.

_ His name was Thomas. _

~*~

It wasn’t completely dark, or at least not how darkness normally behaved. Everything around him was inky black, but when Thomas looked down he could still see his own body just as clearly as if he’d been standing in a well lit room. But that was the only thing he saw. He couldn’t even see the ground he stood on, but when he shuffled his feet he could  _ feel _ it.

It felt like gravel. A path, maybe? Thomas carefully felt around, taking small steps until he reached soft, loose ground. Dirt, most likely. He used this piece of knowledge about his surroundings as a guide to slowly, slowly walk along the path. He didn’t allow himself to think, not yet. Any questions of  _ how, _ or  _ where, _ or  _ why _ could be asked and answered later. And if he couldn’t quite keep them out of his head he tried to not let himself focus on them too much.

He didn’t know for how long he walked, or how far. The darkness and the slow, careful pace made it impossible to measure any distance he traversed. What if this was it? If there only was darkness? But then, even before he had finished that thought, there was  _ something _ . Thomas didn’t know what had changed, it certainly didn’t  _ look _ any different, but there was something there that hadn’t been up to that point. A feeling, a change in atmosphere, and the more he walked forward the more it made its presence. The air felt a bit more crisp, not the neutral nothing he’d grown used to. And now there was a smell, at first too faint to recognize but growing stronger all the time.

Rain. It smelled like rain, like when you’ve just stepped outside after a day of heavy downpour. Thomas stopped for a moment and just breathed deeply. When had he last smelled the rain? He couldn’t even recall any clear memory of it, but still the scent felt so strongly nostalgic and just… clean.

He started up again - walking faster now, hurrying forward to whatever lay in the distance. The blackness that surrounded him eased away, turning into a pale gray.  _ Fog. _ It was  _ fog! _ And then suddenly Thomas wasn’t in darkness at all, but back in a thick forest. The trees were still heavy with the rain and the fog was more of a thin mist here, dancing over the moss and grass. And it was green everywhere - the bright, almost neon green of early spring. Because of the weather there was no sun peeking through the clouds, but it seemed to be early evening judging from what light there was. Where was he?

Thomas looked down, and this time he could actually see the path he was walking on. It continued winding between the trees, and he decided to keep following it. He’d probably walked for just under five minutes when the path stopped at the foot of a small hill. On the hilltop there was another large tree, but the most strange thing about it was the little boy pushing a little girl on a swing hanging from one of the branches. It all seemed so--  _ normal _ . Or it would have been if it wasn’t for the somber look on the boy’s face.

Both children had blond hair, and when Thomas got closer he saw that the boy had impossibly dark eyes. He knew who this was. It was Newt. Or whatever his name had been before. But no - that didn’t matter.  _ This was Newt. _ No matter what, he’d always be Newt to Thomas.

Then abruptly, this younger version of Newt looked up at him, while still continuing to push the swing. Something about that made Thomas jolt, he hadn’t thought either child would know he was there.

“Uh, hi?” Thomas lifted his hand in a small pathetic wave. Newt didn’t say anything, just scrunched up his nose. It was adorable, and Thomas smiled a little, suddenly wanting to ruffle the kid’s hair. Newt turned back to the swing, but Thomas noticed that the kid kept glancing his way when he thought it went unnoticed.

Thomas decided to wait. It wasn’t as if he had much else to do, and he’d learned long ago that patience went a long way with Newt. He sat down in the still wet grass. The water soaked through his jeans, but he didn’t mind much. It was warm enough in the air so that he wouldn’t be freezing any time soon.

He looked out over the forest, breathing in the scents of pine and moss and rain. In the corner of his eyes he saw the movements of the swing, and he listened to the rhythmic creaking of the old ropes that blended together with the girl’s occasional quiet laughter. A bird chirped somewhere nearby and the wind howled softly in the treetops.

It had been a long time since Thomas had felt this at peace. Even in the park before with his mother, in what he had started to understand was a memory, there had still been the underlying sense of urgency, and later - when that day had repeated itself one too many times - boredom. But here there were peace.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before Newt finally spoke, interrupting his thoughts.

“Ma said not to talk to strangers, so I don’t.” The voice was high and naive, so far from the deep tone Thomas had gotten so used to. He turned slowly back to the two children, seeing that Newt’s huge dark eyes once again looked at him.

“Your ma must be a very smart lady,” Thomas said, careful to speak soft and gently.

Newt nodded. “She is. She let us go here to play today because the bad weather would keep the crazies in the city. I had to promise to look after my sister.”

His sister. Newt had had a sister. A twinge of pain shot through Thomas when he thought that Newt had lost her.

“You’re a very good brother then,” he said, trying harder now to not let his feelings shine through in his voice. “And your ma is right that it’s not good to talk to strangers.”

The boy nodded again. He seemed to think for a while, then he asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Thomas,” he smiled a little. “It is nice to meet you.”

“Thomas, Thomas,” the boy said in a sing-song tone as he went back to push his sister on the swing. “Thomas… Tommy---” He abruptly stopped, head whipping around to look at Thomas. “Tommy?”

That time it was no longer the voice of a child. It was Newt’s voice, just like he remembered it.

The next second the whole world shattered in what seemed to be millions and billions of tiny shards, thrown out by an invisible explosion and a deafening silence.   


Then there was darkness. Again. The same as before, but this time, Thomas wasn’t alone. Newt was there, the real Newt.  _ His _ Newt. He seemed startled, pupils blown and mouth hanging open slightly. His hair was messy and his cheeks had a healthy rosy color, not at all like the last time Thomas had seen him. In fact no trace could be seen of the blackened veins, spastic movements, no blood was dripping from his mouth and no insanity in his eyes.

“Tommy? What-” Before Newt could even finish the sentence, Thomas was on him, pulling him into a fierce hug. He felt Newt’s body stiffen for a moment, but then he relaxed and almost fell into Thomas’ embrace. Thomas would have lost his balance at the sudden weight if he hadn’t already been leaning into Newt like a human crutch.

When Newt finally started squirming to get loose Thomas only clutched him tighter. He wasn’t prepared to let him go yet. He had this horrible feeling that if he released his hold on Newt that he’d disappear again from Thomas’ arms, and everything would be revealed to have been just a dream, or a hallucination, or just another fake thing. He wouldn't lose him again. He couldn’t.

“Tommy, you’re gonna hafta let me go some time,” Newt mumbled into his ear, his voice slightly muffled.

Thomas shook his head fiercely. “Don’t wanna.”

A slight chuckle came from the blond boy. He sighed, and squeezed Thomas slightly before using his superior strength to break free. He didn’t go far, just took a step away so that they could breathe properly again, but he kept a hand on Thomas’ forearm.

“Where are we? What happened?” Newt asked after taking a deep breath.

“I don’t know.” Thomas shrugged, and Newt rolled his eyes at the answer that was so typical coming from the brunet, though the corner of his mouth was turned up in a small affectionate smile. “I was like you, stuck in a memory of some sort from my childhood. Or I guess it was mine, could have been anything, really,” he went on to explain. “At first I didn’t notice, but then I realized that it was just the exact same day repeating, over and over again. I tried everything to change it. Nothing worked. But then I saw--” He paused for a brief moment.

“What? What did you see?” Newt asked.

“You. I saw you.” Thomas looked Newt straight in the eyes. “And I followed you, and then the world… disappeared.”

“Like what just happened.” It wasn’t a question.

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, kinda. And then I was here, in the dark. I could feel that I was on a path and started walking, and eventually got out into the woods where I met you... and your sister.”

Newt shifted his gaze down to his feet. “Uh, yeah. I had forgotten… I still don’t remember her name.”

He looked sad then and Thomas tentatively put his free hand over Newt’s where it still rested on his arm. “I’m sorry. I was with my mother, and I can’t remember her name either.”

Newt nodded slowly, then looked up at Thomas with a small lopsided smile and squeezed his arm slightly. “I remember you though. That’s enough.”

“I remember you too.” Tears gathered in the corners of Thomas’ eyes and he returned the little smile. Then he once again pulled Newt into his arms and buried his nose in the crook of his neck. Newt smelled so familiar, so comforting. Something earthy, a bit of smoke, and something floral underlying it all. It reminded Thomas of that first night in the Glade, sitting beside Newt a bit away from the fire. Newt had smelled of flowers then too. “I missed you so much,” he choked out on a sob. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

A sniffle came from Newt and his voice sounded thicker than normal when he answered. “I hope I never have to.” He clung onto Thomas so much that it almost hurt. Not that Thomas minded, not at all. It was further proof that they were both really there, together. That was all he’d ever wanted.

This time it was Thomas who gently broke their embrace, but he was smiling - grinning almost - and he made sure not to lose contact with Newt completely. His eyes glistened with tears, but they were happy, small crinkles forming in the corners. Newt too, looked happier than he’d been since they had met again in the forest.

“As much as I’d like to stay here,” Newt said, moving to take Thomas’ hand in his. “Shall we try to find our way out of wherever this is and on to whatever awaits us?”

Thomas chuckled a little at Newt’s way of asking. “Yeah, I guess we should.” He repeated his actions from last time, feeling around with his feet, but he felt no gravel, just soft ground that could have been soil of grass or anything. “Well, perhaps we just pick a direction and start walking?” he suggested. Newt shrugged. It wasn’t like they had a better plan to follow.

Again Thomas didn’t know how far they walked, or for how long. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t alone anymore, and that made all the difference. Sometimes they talked for a bit, but mostly they enjoyed the comfortable silence between them, content with just existing in each other’s presence. They never let go of the other’s hand, partly because Thomas didn’t know how this darkness worked - feared that if they got too far apart they might not be able to ever find their way back - and partly because they had been separated by something other than distance for far too long.

They could have walked for ten minutes or an hour, or even a day, but Thomas found that eventually even this darkness had an end. The change of environment started the same, with a slight shift in the air. A soft sound that was neither a grunt nor a breath signaled that Newt has also noticed. The difference from before though was that the change didn’t feel crisp and pure, but rather hot and stuffy. And when the scents of their surroundings came it wasn’t the clean smell of a rain damp forest but the stank of smoke still lingering from giant fires recently put out. Then in the next seconds gravel once again crunched under their shoes and the darkness dissipated completely.

It was a town, or the outskirts of a city. The houses were old and worn down. There seemed to be an almost frantic activity going on, and even before they got close enough to see it, Thomas had a pretty good idea of what it was. There there were sounds; of crazed laughter, babbling and occasionally someone screaming. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the sudden panic that threatened to drown him. His heart was pounding in his ears and scenes played out before his closed eyes, of a chaos ridden city, of chases in tunnels, screams, screams, and pain, and hanging bodies and Newt, Newt, Newt, pointing a gun towards his chest, insanity clouding his eyes and yelling, cursing, growling,  _ begging--- _ He couldn’t go through this again, couldn’t see it happen, couldn't, he couldn’t---

“Tommy! Tommy, snap out of it!” Newt’s voice penetrated his swirling, panicked thoughts and his eyes snapped up to meet another pair looking at him with concern. But Thomas could also see his flashbacks mirrored in Newt’s eyes, and not for the first time he admired his friend’s strength. Even while reliving his own worst memories he pushed them away, staying present enough to ground Thomas.

Thomas had no control over his actions as he drew Newt in, just like he had before. He just needed to feel him breathing against his own body, to feel the steady rise and fall of Newt’s chest and knowing that he was alive, alive,  _ alive. _ His whole being was wracked with sobs and incoherent apologies tumbled over his lips as he just clung onto Newt as if they’d both die if he let go. He felt the hulking sobs Newt tried not to let out against his neck, and he wanted more than anything to be a safe place where Newt could allow himself to cry if he needed to. He wanted to be his shelter in whatever storm raged inside him, to be his shining beacon. To be for Newt what Newt was to him. To just be close. Just closer, closer,  _ it still wasn’t close enough _ .

Thomas backed away, not far and still keeping as much body contact as he could, but far enough to look Newt in the eyes as their tear clouded gazes met. He hesitantly moved a hand up to cup Newt’s face, looking for any sort of change in his expression that would hint at rejection. Newt’s eyes visibly darkened and with a soft puff of breath he leaned into the gentle touch. Thomas reached up and their lips met in a crash of longing, desperation and long denied need. It was a kiss that said every unspoken word that had ever passed between them, every emotion pushed away, every stolen glance, lingering touch. It was the kiss of drowning men gasping for air, of two hearts beating as one and an affection, a  _ love _ , too great to be contained within two bodies.

It was so much more than any kiss before it had ever been. Not that Thomas knew much of kissing, he’d only been kissed once before, by Teresa out in that shack in the Scorch, and that one had been laced with confusion more that anything else, and a distinct distance.

The thought of Teresa and of that time in the Scorch felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over his head, abruptly reminding him that the surrounding world existed. This wasn’t the time.

He lingered a moment longer in the kiss, still not wanting to let it end. But eventually it had to, and when he slowly eased away and opened his eyes he saw understanding in Newt’s oh, so expressive eyes.

Newt placed his hand over Thomas’ where it still rested on his cheek and pressed slightly closer. “Later,” he said in a voice just barely above a whisper, a small smile full of fondness playing on his lips and still visible tear tracks staining his flushed face.Thomas had never seen anything that beautiful.

“I think we should go,” Thomas said, still in a quiet tone. “If this is the same as before, the people here are just a memory. But someone is stuck here, just like you and I was. We have to find them.”

A shrill scream penetrated the little private bubble they had created for themselves there, just in the outside the Crank infested city of someone’s mind. A someone that needed them, who needed to escape this hell hole.

With another few breaths to try to calm his still swiveling emotions, Thomas stood up from where he’d crumbled to the ground, pulling Newt up with him. He hadn’t let go of him before, and he wasn’t about to do it now. Turning back towards the closest of the houses, they started walking the remaining distance.

It wasn’t long before they saw the first few humans scrambling about. Some were frantically talking to themselves and some seemed almost normal if not for the jerking movements and beginning traces of madness shining in their eyes, and the wild gazes they shot from side to side. They all appeared to be moving towards a house further away where the commotion seemed to be centered. That was probably the best bet for a destination for Newt and Thomas to go too.

Thomas kept his attention on everyone they passed, trying to find someone who reacted to their presence. He especially looked at the children they passed. If the pattern held up, it would be a child. But none of the kids saw them, there was only the same craziness about them as in everyone else, the same violence. They fought, they bit each other until they drew blood. Someone broke another’s arm and both kids continued to smile. It was vile, horrible, and so endlessly tragic. They were just kids, they should have had their whole life ahead of them, but instead now they would have been lucky to survive a month.

“Tommy…” Newt voice sounded a bit strange, and when Thomas turned to look at him he saw that Newt had also been watching the kids. The pain Thomas could so easily read in his expression let him know that Newt recalled his own behaviour those last few days, and what would have happened to him later on. “Why is this happening, do you think? The repeating memories, everything. Why are we here? We’re dead, right?”

“I- I kil-” Thomas swallowed hard. He couldn’t get the words  _ I killed you _ out over his lips. His heart hurt, and he desperately tried to think of anything else. “Yeah,” he said instead. “I think we are.”

Newt just nodded his reply, and for a long while neither said anything else. After what felt like an eternity Newt quietly whispered “How?”

Thomas understood the question without it having to be completely uttered. “After I-”  _ After I shot you. I shot you. Oh my God, I killed you! _ He tried again to force away the thoughts that only brought back the unending pain. “Janson.” he said instead. “I went back in, for answers…” Pause, deep breath. Truth. “...for vengeance. Justice. For the pain of hearing I could have-- To suffer. For justice. Vindication. And I didn’t care anymore. Then Janson killed Ava. And then Teresa-- if I could at least save her… But I got hurt. Sh- shot.” The broken sentences came out in a jumble, and Thomas just hoped Newt could make sense of it all, because he didn’t think he had the strength to repeat it. Not yet. “Everything burned, and then there was the Berg, but I can’t remember getting to it.”

“I’m sorry,” Newt lay his forehead against Thomas’ shoulder to let him know that it was over now, and that he wasn’t alone. And oh, how Thomas appreciated it. Despite everything, all the pain and the hurt, he thanked everything he knew of that he could at least still be with Newt. Just that - even if everything else were to disappear and they would exist in a void - just that part was monumental. It was everything. It made everything worth it.

“Thank you,” he murmured into Newt’s hair. “Thank you.”

Another heartbeat passed before they separated from the tangled embrace they seemed to get caught it so often now, and they both seemed to remember at the same time that they had more to do here than just exist for each other. Hopefully it would be time for that later.

They continued their walk to the house at the end of the block. The laughter and screams got louder and more frequent the closer they got. The windows were smashed and the door hung on its hinges. Cranks littered the street outside, and there looked to be more inside. As they got up to the enterence, the oddest sight awaited them. In the hallway, through the rooms and all the way to what looked to be a basement staircase, the Cranks had formed a path. And up from the basement came a strange procession.

First came a young man, perhaps only a teenager but whatever he’d been through seemed to have hardened him well past his years. His expression was grim and there was something… lacking in his eyes. Compassion, perhaps. In his hands he gripped an odd looking gun, slightly resembling a Launcher, but with more twists and an odd glass compartment. After him came a woman who looked to be the same age as the man. She was definitely pretty, but she looked so confused, like she had no idea what was going on or where she was. She reminded Thomas of what he had felt like coming up out of the Box back in the Glade.

Last there was a man who Thomas guessed to be in his forties. His hair was cropped in a military buzz cut and he wore a closed off expression, not revealing any feelings that might be stirring behind that mask. He was holding a gun just like the one the first man had.

The small group moved incredibly slowly and carefully through the Cranks, though Thomas had no doubt that all three of them had also contracted the virus. Maybe that was why the rest let them through. The peace was temporary however, the tense air so thick that one could have cut it with a knife. One wrong step by the group and the Cranks would be over them.

As they continued to weave their way towards the exit, Thomas saw something he’d missed when he first studied the group. Just behind the woman, clutching her hand, was a little girl. She was perhaps four years of age but she had the look of someone who had already seen too much for their young years. Her hair was jet black and tangled, and looked like it hadn’t gotten a good wash for a long time. Then suddenly she turned his head and looked straight at Thomas, and a wave of recognition hit him.

“Teresa!” he gasped. It was undoubtedly her, and somewhere in the depths of his mind Thomas had a picture of her, just a few years older than this, in a sterile white room on a scraggly chair.

He barely had any time to process this before everything was chaos. The young man had clenched his jaws together, the older man had nodded. Then both started running, and the Cranks attacked. There were bodies everywhere, limbs flailing about uncontrollably, growling, screeching, screams and laughter. Then an electric charge could be heard and the Crank right in front of Thomas turned ashen gray before he disintegrated into thin air.

Had the situation been different, Thomas would have frozen in place from the shock and the overwhelming fear the sight caused in him, but now all he could focus on was the little girl, Teresa, and that he had to reach her and get her out. He dove forward in the place left unoccupied by the dissolved man and through the skirmish all around him. He was pushed, knocked over and someone managed to elbow him straight on the nose. It hurt like hell but still he continued fighting his way forward.

There! There she was! Thomas saw her black hair disappear behind someone just in front of him. He pushed forward, almost climbing over the Crank and reached out his hand. Please, please! He had to get to her! He felt his hand close around a small arm, and he pulled. He heard the voice of a small child yelp in pain, but he had to get her away. Teresa lost her grip of the confused woman who continued running, still holding her hand behind her as if she still held the child’s hand.

Thomas dragged Teresa towards him and cradled her against his chest. She was so small, so fragile. She could easily be crushed in this chaos. So could he, for the matter. He had to get away, but it was much harder fighting his way back through the crazed crown than it had been going with it. He clutched Teresa harder. He had to make it, he couldn’t lose now, not when he’d gotten a second chance to make up for what he’d done, for all the hurt he’d caused.

He continued on, his only thoughts were to get to a corner of the room where it would be calmer - it would be safer to escape out a window than through a door - and to not fall. If he fell, he’d get trampled. It might just be a memory, but the elbow to his face proved he could still get hurt, and if he fell he wouldn’t get up again.

Someone grabbed hold of his arm and Thomas was just about to shake it off when he looked up to meet those oh, so familiar eyes. Newt. Thomas let out a breath of relief, suddenly sure that everything would be fine. Newt half pulled, half led them away from the crowd that had started to let up significantly as more Cranks piled out onto the street after their targets. That steady hand on his arm made Thomas’ panic fade into nothing. As long as Newt was with him, he was sure they’d be fine.

They got to the wall and moved along it to the closest window. The glass was already gone, but just to be safe Thomas pulled at the dirty tattered curtain until it came loose, and hung it over the edge to avoid the shards.

“I climb out first,” Thomas said to Newt. “Then you give me Teresa and get out after us, okay?” Newt wrinkled his nose at the sound of her name, but nodded and held out his arms to take her from Thomas so he could jump out. Teresa just clung to him closer and hid her little face in Thomas’ shirt. With gentle fingers Thomas pried her hand lose from the fabric as he spoke softly to her. “Hey now, it’s okay, it’s all okay now. I just need you to stay with Newt for a bit, alright?”

Finally she made a quiet noise and let go of her grip on him. Thomas handed her over to Newt and then climbed out the window and jumped down. It wasn’t far to the ground, fortunately,  _ not like other windows he’d jumped from _ . He turned back and took Teresa back from Newt so he could follow out. In a few seconds they were all moving away from the Crank house as fast as they could. When they’d gotten a good couple of houses away Thomas stopped and put Teresa down on the ground. He crouched so he was on eye-level with her. She looked at him with an odd resignation, like she’d stopped questioning the things that happened to her.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. She shook his head. “I’m Thomas. Tom. Do you remember?” Nothing. No recollection. He decided to try another way. “What’s your name?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but then she closed it again and a look of confusion came over her. She thought for a bit, then tried again to answer. “D- DeeDee.” she piped.

DeeDee? Thomas had never heard what her name had been before. It felt odd to suddenly just know. He nodded slightly to her. “Okay, DeeDee. Do you remember that you have another name? Can you recall what that is?”

Again nothing. She didn’t answer. “It’s Teresa. Do you know that name? You’re Teresa.”

“Teresa?” Her eyes widened so that the pupil almost completely covered the iris. “I- I’m Teresa? I’m Teresa.”

Then, as if a breath blew out a candle, their surroundings disappeared and they returned to the darkness once more. And there Teresa stood, looking just like the day he’d found her on top of the watchtower in the Glade. She looked around rapidly in what almost looked like the beginning of a panic, but then her gaze returned to him.

“Tom.” It came out as a sob, and the next second she flew into his arms. He caught her and held her tight. It was so good to see her again. She was the closest thing he had to a family, a sister in everything but blood, and whatever she had done to them didn’t matter now.

A snort came from somewhere to his right and Thomas looked over to see Newt’s disapproving stance. He decidedly disentangled Teresa from where she clung to him and she took a step back. She turned to see Newt, and a look of relief made its way onto her features.

“Newt! I’m so glad to see you,” she exclaimed. Thomas didn’t doubt her sincerity. “So Tom managed to save you!”

Thomas winched. Her words felt like they’d stabbed him. He knew she didn’t mean them the way they were received, but it felt like he once again got his failures pushed up into his face.  _ And really, he deserved nothing less. _

“Stop that.” The hand on his shoulder pulled Thomas out of his dark thoughts. He noticed that Newt had walked up to him, his expression a mix between worry and exasperation. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. Don’t blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault and that you couldn’t change to begin with.”

Teresa looked between them, confused. “What?” she asked. “What are you saying?”

Thomas met her eyes, sure that she could already see the truth in his own. She could always read his expression with such accuracy that he sometimes imagined that she could hear his thoughts directly.

“I didn’t, T.” he croaked. “It was already too late by the time I met up with you. I couldn’t save you either.”

He could see her pupils widen slightly, but she just nodded. “So, we’re dead.” It wasn’t a question but Thomas voiced a confirmation anyway. “Okay,” Teresa said. “Could have been worse, I suspect. But why are you here, Tom? You were supposed to survive this.”

He shrugged. “Guess I didn’t. Bled out, I think.” It was easier talking about it the second time, but he still needed to reach out to Newt for support as the memories played before his vision all over again. His fingertips brushed against Newt’s waist and continued over to the small of his back. He didn’t drag Newt close, just pressed his hand lightly against him and Newt moved to erase the few inches between them, a small pleased smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Teresa didn’t even look surprised at the sight.

“Well,” she asked. “What now?”

“I guess we just move on, see if there’s any other place we’ll arrive at.” Thomas suggested. Maybe they had more people to find? Or maybe they could just get somewhere else, any place that wasn’t endless darkness.

Thomas took the lead again, followed by Newt and lastly Teresa. Newt hadn’t seemed too pleased at having to hold her hand, but he did it anyway. They walked in silence, a silence that had been comfortable the last time but now only seemed awkward. After awhile Teresa couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I know you don’t like me,” she said to Newt. “You don’t have to. I know what I did, I know the hurt I caused. Don’t think for a minute that I don’t wish I could have done it a different way.”

“Then why didn’t you!” Newt snarled. “You could have worked with us instead of against us.”

“I did what I thought was right!” Teresa raised her voice as she delivered what Thomas had started to think of as her stock answer. “I would still do anything it took to save as many as I could!”

Newt snorted. The sound was completely without any mirth. It was a cruel sound, something Thomas had never heard from him. “How about all who died for your cause? What about them? You know, I hope their screams haunt you at night, that their pain cuts you soul deep - or would if you had a soul. That you’ll see their faces each time you close your eyes and know what you did to them.”

Thomas stopped in his tracks in complete shock and turned around to face them. This wasn’t the Newt he knew and cared about. He reached out towards him, turning Newt’s head so they were looking at each other. Newt’s hard expression melted into something softer, something regretful as he saw Thomas’ concern. And there was a hint of fear there as well, the same fear that Thomas had seen that first time Newt had snapped at him, back in the last city when they’d discussed using Teresa to get in. But this time Thomas could guess the reason for that fear. Newt was afraid that he was relapsing.

“You’re not,” Thomas whispered quietly enough so only Newt could hear him. “You’re not a Crank, you don’t have the Flare. You’re not becoming  _ that _ again. Trust me. I can see the difference.” And he could. There was nothing uncontrollable about Newt’s anger this time, no insanity in the depths of his eyes. He was just Newt. Angry and hurt and plagued by the loss of so many of their friends, but still Newt.

“Sorry, Tommy,” he took a deep breath and looked back at Teresa. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Teresa nodded. “You were right though. I see them all. Constantly. But I had to keep fighting for what I believed in. If I started questioning my resolve I felt like I’d lose myself and fail the entire world.” She shook her head. “If I got the chance to go back, I’d still fight for a cure. Believe me when I say that we started out with the best of intentions. Even if in the end it proved to be pointless. Though I should have known Janson only wanted to find it for his own sake - not for the sake of the world. And for what it’s worth, Newt, I really wanted to save you. Mostly for Tom, I admit, but you were never meant to die. You were one of the good people out there.”

Newt was silent for a few long seconds before he spoke, seemingly processing her words. “Okay.” he said, and he looked Teresa straight in the eyes. “I don’t think I can ever forgive you for what you did, what you caused. But Tommy trust you, stupid shank that he is-” Newt ignored Thomas’ little offended  _ Hey! _ at those words, “-so I am prepared to  _ try _ to move on. Give you another chance.  _ One. _ For Tommy’s sake, as you said. Don’t make me regret it, or I will personally make sure you can never repeat it.”

“Thank you.”

“Sooo…” Thomas started carefully. “Um, shall we continue onwards?”

When he got two shorts nods in response he turned back and walked on. They still moved in silence, but at least this time it wasn’t as tense.  _ Maybe, _ Thomas thought,  _ maybe it would all turn out okay. _ He had Newt back, and now Teresa as well, and the two didn’t  _ seem _ to be that keen on spilling each other’s blood just yet. Perhaps they’d never be friends, but at least they could have a relatively peaceful truce. That was enough.

They hadn’t walked for long - or Thomas didn’t think they had, but it was still impossible to tell the passing of time here - before the now normal changes in the surroundings came. The scent of grass was the most prominent this time. Grass, and sun-warm earth and trees and cut wood. It smelled like the Glade, like home. The only home Thomas could ever recall having, no matter for how brief of a period. The sunlight pierced through the darkness and he had to put up a hand to shield his eyes as they stepped out into the hot summer day. When his eyes had adjusted enough he could finally see where they were, and the sight made him choke up.

It was a field. A field with a forest nearby and further away there were a couple of rickety houses built. There was a familiar activity going on everywhere, people - Gladers, he realized - going about their daily routine. People tending to the Gardens, people repairing the shacks. Familiar faces, unfamiliar ones, and quite a few stopped to greet them. Beside him, Newt clutched his hand in a cramp like grip, and he heard Teresa suck in a breath.

“Tommy, do you see that?”

“Tom…”

He saw. There were no walls keeping them trapped. No danger in sight. Just a home, a new Glade. For the first time for as long as he could remember, Thomas knew that they were finally free.


End file.
